


always have you (to say it'll be alright)

by palladium



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:56:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palladium/pseuds/palladium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jordan's different. Taylor can't explain it, but he is, and he's the one who always makes Taylor feel a little bit better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	always have you (to say it'll be alright)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from I Will Always Have You by [we are] the end.
> 
> Set before off-season and I just wanted to write a frustrated Taylor, because poor bb and his shoulder (that went through successful surgery earlier this month!) :'(. Tiny little bit of Ebs/Hallsy if you squint really hard.

Taylor hates himself. He hates his stick. He hates the puck. He hates his teammates. He hates his coach. He hates the media. He hates the reporters. He hates his shoulder, his knee, his wrist, his hip, his ankle— and he hates how he's not fucking scoring on every opportunity he's getting. The team and Horc and Coach give him the same bullshit talk about how everything will be fine, and all the team needs to be focusing on is the next game, and the one after that, and the one after that. They don't mention how Taylor breaks his third stick in two games after missing the net on just about every chance he's gotten, and Taylor fucking hates _everything_.  
  
The reporters also decided it would be a fucking great idea to ask him the bullshit question he desperately wanted to forget and avoid: "How do you feel about not scoring on the great chances you've gotten in the past two games, Taylor?" He wants to say fuck you and leave, but that's not professionally acceptable and it would definitely not make him feel any better.  
  
So he says, "It's frustrating, of course. My line is giving me tons of great chances to the net, but it's not exactly the best feeling when you let them down time after time. It's definitely been frustrating, but, you know, I just have to get through this stage, and keep trying to score." Actually, even the word "frustrated" is not enough to describe what Taylor's feeling, what he's going through. His knee is still half screwed up, and his shoulder's even more fucked up. Everything is sucking, and he pretty much would rather die.  
  
He gets home an hour later than most of the team, and Jordan looks up from the couch but doesn't say anything. Taylor doesn't even look at him.  
  
Jordan's up and walking over to him though, and Taylor really holds himself back to avoid punching Jordan in the gut or something. Jordan hasn't done anything wrong, it's just that Taylor really needs to take out his anger.  
  
"Ebs," he grits lowly, quietly. Jordan has his arms crossed in front of him and Taylor looks down to take in the expression in his eyes.  
  
Jordan sighs, and puts a reassuring hand on Taylor's shoulder. It's his bad one, so Jordan squeezes it gently and rubs the base of his thumb on it, drawing circles.   
  
"Hallsy," he answers a bit after, his eyes deep and sure, and even though Taylor's not much taller than him, it definitely feels like he is now. Jordan tilts his head up to stare into him, and it feels as if Taylor's eight feet tall.  
  
Taylor doesn't mean it but anger is still stirring inside of him so when he knocks Jordan's hand off his shoulder, he immediately feels guilty about it. He doesn't have time to think over what he's about to say next though, because it comes out without a beat, and the frustration is evident in his eyes. "Don't act like you fucking know, okay? Because you don't."  
  
Jordan shrugs slightly and stares back up at him, and Taylor somehow feels even angrier. He shoves Jordan backwards until the edge of the counter of their kitchen island stops them and digs into Jordan's back. "Everything fucking sucks right now, and I don't want your bullshit attempt to cheer me up. You don't fucking know what it's like. To play with a fucked up shoulder for four years and what's been happening lately. If you're going to say what everyone else has already said, don't say it. I don't want to hear it." And then Taylor's turning around and walking away when Jordan reaches out to grab him and says—  
  
"Hallsy, wait," Jordan's eyes softened, and he grips onto the back of Taylor's jacket, clinging on even though Taylor's not turned around to look at him. "Look, I know it's been hard lately, but you've really got to look into the future. It's not going to keep being shitty. It's going to get better—"  
  
"I don't want to hear it."  
  
Jordan's grip tightens, "Seriously, Hallsy. It'll get better. You'll get through it. I promise."  
  
Taylor doesn't hold back. When he turns around, Jordan's back against the counter, Taylor's arms on either side of his hips, and he's glaring straight into Jordan's eyes. He doesn't say anything, but the adrenaline rush in his veins tell him he wants to. Mostly though, he feels like pulling back and punching Jordan in the arm or hip or something, hard enough to bruise for weeks, just so he can feel like he can still get authority but in a different sense.  
  
He's fucking angry and stressed out and his breathing is irregular, but he doesn't do anything. He just stares and stares and stares at Jordan, and when Jordan blinks at him, looking at him weird, Taylor takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around Jordan's smaller form, breathing out slowly on his neck.  
  
"Ebs," his voice sounds broken and weak this time, and he just wants it to be over. He really wants to be able to play with no injuries again. He wants to score. He wants to carry the team. He wants to do anything and everything for the Oilers, and if only he can. He wishes his shoulder wasn't fucked up.  
  
And he also wishes he could take back what he yelled at Jordan.  
  
Jordan's head is resting on Taylor's good shoulder and they kind of stay like that for a while, the only movement being the rise and fall of their chests. Taylor's starting to calm down but it's not completely gone, because the problem is still there and the feelings are definitely still there. But Jordan's pressed up against his front and it's warm and it's somehow managing to melt away his stress a little, so Taylor's pretty sure he's suddenly believing everything Jordan says when he hears,  
  
"It's going to get better, Hallsy."  
  
And when Jordan's arms curls around him, hugging him back and clinging onto his jacket, Taylor knows that it will.


End file.
